Happy Hour

This morning I had coffee with Missi at her house at 8:00, because Missi is like Martha Stewart — she’s always ready for company (JUST!  PLUM!  READY!) at very ugly hours in the mornings, when the rest of us still have Frosted Flakes on the kitchen floor, puddles of syrup turning into gelatinous configurations on the counters, and forty-seven pounds of junk mail scattered everywhere, because no one has sifted through it yet, to see if she’d be throwing away anything of MAJOR IMPORT if she just dumped it all blindly into the trash.

(Because she has learned from experience on that one, as she threw out a new bill for a computer which was recently purchased, because it came in a strange envelope bearing a return address that made it look like it had been sent from the Witness Protection Program.  It looked a little junk-esque to her, so she pitched it without a second thought and slept very well that night.  And low!  She paid for it with a $25 late fee, because companies like that don’t take kindly to having the bills they send you pitched into the trashcan, and now she fears that her credit score will have to be dug out of the ground with a sturdy shovel, and THAT makes her a little edgy, simply because her credit score has always been pristine and bleach-washed and brilliantly wonderful.  But  now, people, said credit score is probably at an all-time low, because of her not paying extreme attention to envelopes that looked suspiciously like they were advertising  Ginsu Knives or a  Flowbee, neither of which she actually needed, and the next time she and her husband need a loan from the bank to buy a coveted Cadillac  Escalade, the banker will laugh in their faces and say, “My, my!  It says here that your credit score is a whopping FOURTEEN POINTS, because you threw your computer bill in the garbage and tried to ignore them.  No Escalade for you!”)

(Although, getting back to the unneeded products, she has a real-life friend who still owns a Flowbee.  And actually “still owns” is probably not even the correct phrase there, because who actually owned one in the first place, years ago, and then kept it tucked away in a box in the basement that was always meant for a charitable donation, to actually necessitate the words “still owns”?  But said friend, who shall remain nameless because of the EMBARRASSMENT FACTOR, continues to use the Flowbee to this very day to cut her boys’ hair, and her own 4th grade boy thinks it’s a modern day miracle that anything attached to the vacuum cleaner can be used to shave heads.  And on the rare occasions that he has seen the Flowbee, the boy has wanted to take it apart and fully understand how on earth the vacuum cleaner makes it work.)

(Some things are just better left unexplained.  As well as unpurchased.)

(And THAT, if you remember and haven’t fallen off the train ride which is this blog post, is WHY she threw away the strange envelope in the first place — she didn’t need a Flowbee, or a new set of Ginsu Knives, or miraculous plant-growing vitamins, AS SEEN ON TV [because her chromosome-deficient cat would have simply EATEN the super plant from the big vitamins and chalked it up as a fantastic harvest], and now!  Now the order forms are sent straight to your home in strange, unmarked envelopes, and they can be completely confused with bills for your new home computer.)

And I was where before the tangent drove us around in circles and made us all wish for a nerve pill?

Yes, I had coffee with Missi this morning, at the island in her kitchen, and we spent that early hour this morning honestly discussing great affairs, like whether or not our children should travel overseas to underprivileged countries after securing their doctorate degrees to establish hospitals and bring health care to the needy before they get married, or whether they should simply join a rock band, play their guitars really loudly, and marry the first groupies they meet who can open a beer bottle with their teeth.

I told Missi that I didn’t have to worry about paying for college OR knowing that the boy was playing acoustic guitar in a seedy honky-tonk bar somewhere, because he’s already announced that HE SHALL OWN A PAWN SHOP!  Hubs and I will give him the Wii (which will be an ancient relic by the time the boy finishes high school), and viola.  He’ll officially have his first piece of merchandise for the pawn shop, and he can open for business.

After that, Missi and I moved on to other conversation topics, too, as we decided that anyone who cannot follow or understand Casablanca probably has no business watching Inception, because Inception is a movie that will make a girl ask three hundred and six times, “What?! What are they doing?  Whose dream are they in now?  How many dreams are they in right now?”  And she’ll begin to question the fact that she graduated 14th in her class of 300, because all of a sudden two movies in the course of three days have baffled her like Advanced Expository Writing never did in high school.

(Yes, Hubs and I finally found the time to watch Inception last night, since the Avalanche weren’t suited up to lose a hockey game, and rest assured that my mind can handle Glee MUCH BETTER, people.  It should also be noted that Hubs sighed approximately nineteen times when I kept asking, repeatedly, “Did you start this DVD in the MIDDLE of the movie, because I really feel like I’ve missed half of  it?  Is this a 2-disc movie?  Did you, by chance, put the wrong DVD in, because surely I shouldn’t be this DAD-GUM LOST!”  And I also think that I would have appreciated Casablanca a whole lot more if Ashton Kutcher and Reese Witherspoon had played the main rolls, because that is simply how I function.)

(I’m sorry, Humphrey; it’s nothing personal.  You were just too hard to follow, and you weren’t all that cute.)

And then Missi and I discussed the merits of McDonald’s cheeseburgers over Dairy Queen’s ice cream, and we pondered the age-old question of, “How do you train your child to take responsibility for his things and not leave his lunchbox on a school bus that he rides two times every week?”

And then we argued over whether it’s best to spend ONE ENTIRE DAY ironing the family’s clothing EVERY THREE WEEKS, or spend TEN MINUTES EVERY SINGLE EVENING ironing just enough shirts for the following day.

(We were a hung jury on that front.  Neither of our armies felt like retreating and giving up their territory.)

We also discussed childhood drama, visiting brothers, being a teacher in an inner-city school where kids spouted off foul language to you on a daily basis vs. teaching PE in a nice, quiet, private school, and what to have for dinner tonight.  And then we topped it all off by giggling over the fact that one of our children possesses a secret admirer, while another one of our children is sporting a wicked crush on a classmate.

All of this, people, in the time span of 45 minutes.

Clearly, Missi and I have us some mad conversation skills.

And also?  When I dashed out her front door to head to the dentist’s office so that I could get my teeth cleaned this morning, Missi made the executive decision to FINALLY take the Christmas wreath down from her door.

And I personally watched as she walked said wreath across the yard to the family’s dumpster.

So really?

World problems were completely solved, and Christmas has been put to bed at Missi’s house, so I’d say that it was a pretty productive morning, considering that I still have gelatinous puddles of syrup and junk mail all over my kitchen counters and didn’t accomplish anything else that was even remotely productive all day long.

Because really?  Have you ever seen what it looks like when four college-aged boys decide to rent an apartment together, and all four of them own a big-screen TV, but not one of them owns a vacuum cleaner or a can of Pledge?  Yeah…that’s exactly how our house looks tonight.  EXACTLY as you’d imagine that college apartment to look like, because I was busy having coffee and getting my teeth cleaned and encouraging little children not to cheat at kickball in PE today.

In other words, LAZY.

But I did cart myself off to the boy’s floor hockey game tonight, and he scored a goal!  Oh, yes!  He took a pass from a teammate and smacked that puck square into the net, and his cheering section rose to their feet and whistled and clapped like nutcases.

Well, maybe it was just his mama who whistled and clapped like a nutcase, because she’s not embarrassed to do that when the boy scores a point for his team.

And also, on a note that is totally, 100% unrelated to anything we’ve even talked about tonight, I just want y’all to know that I am fully addicted to Scentsy wax.  I need a twelve-step program, as I just gave my dealer cold hard cash for more waxy hash today.  But listen!  Vanilla Cream!  And Fresh Cut Grass, which is smacking my Spring Fever hard!  And White Tea and Cactus!  And Raisin Spice Tea!

Hubs told me that he’s going to run an intervention and fire my Scentsy dealer.

And since she’s HIS cinnamon roll dealer, that could be a hefty bit of a problem.

And there.  I officially release you from the utter nonsense that is tonight’s blog post.

Happy Wednesday night, y’all.

2 thoughts on “Happy Hour

  1. Aaaaaah… You didn’t mention that the wreath was still in very good condition — and I can’t announce which school’s fundraiser it came from because that might blow your cover! And I did notice that you said, ‘the Avs weren’t suited up to LOSE a game’ — I noticed and I take it personally… and I think they’re suited up tonight to lose again which is why you had time to type up this non-sensical and o-so-entertaining blog post!!! And “viola” to The Boy having his first piece of merchandise for the Pawn Shop???

    Oh how I love to bug and tease you…

    Come on over and hang out on my island ANYTIME. Loved every minute.
    Next time, I’ll leave the cereal bowls and peanut butter jars out…

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